Traitor!
by Aidokime
Summary: Why was Cliffjumper so happy to jump to the conclusion that Mirage was a traitor in the Generation one episode 'Traitor', when previously there was little to no conflict between the pair? Events take place before, and around the G1 episode 'Traitor'.


_(time line starts just before 'Traitor'.)_

1984: California Highway 66

Rumor flies faster than a supersonic jet, so the old saying goes, and the speed of fact is merely subsonic. And as a matter of nature, the two rarely ever run the same circuits– dangerously, when the two confront one another, the results can end up just as explosive and deadly as any bomb.

Rumor, reflected Cliffjumper, could hold a seed of truth in it, however small. As for explosions...

"Watch out, Cliffjumper!" the green jeep traveling just to the right of the red compact car emitted the sharp warning. "You almost hit Mirage there."

"Yeah, Hound," Cliffjumper grudgingly replied, taking a moment to ease off his throttle, and back away from the tempting target of the formula one car's spoiler. "I'll be more careful." Mirage seemed as oblivious as usual. Of course he would– he had a lot of explaining to do, once they got back to the Ark. Cliffjumper looked forward to hearing them, in a way. He didn't hate Mirage, exactly. The blue spy just stayed so aloof most of the time, that it was hard to get to know him.

The words of the seeker that had been raiding the human factory for parts still echoed in his memory. Loud enough for all of the Autobots to hear, and cut off by Mirage's own laser shot–

"_So you made it out of that tower of yours after all! Kill any more Autobots lately?" _

The Ark

"For the last time, Cliffjumper, settle down, before I solder your motor circuits to the table, and you get to go nowhere for three weeks."

"But what are they _doing_ in there?" Blue optics fairly flashed with impatience.

Something slipped, causing a spark and a fizzling 'Pop'.

"Ow– hey!"

"Now what did I just tell you about twitching?"

Reluctantly the small red bot obeyed, though his gaze remained on the distant doorway to the ark's command center. Since they'd returned from dispersing the Decepticon raiding party, Mirage had been sequestered with Hound, Optimus, Prowl, and Jazz. Cliffjumper just itched to be a bug on the wall for that conversation.

It had been an hour already. What could be keeping them shut up there? And why—

The door opened, Mirage and Hound emerging, and immediately heading towards the repair center. Hound was grinning, and trying to talk to Mirage as they walked. Mirage however, . . had almost a skittish look about him. Almost a guilty look– and the Autobot spy wasn't responding, or even meeting the gaze of anyone who happened to look his way. Especially when he passed by Cliffjumper.

"What was that all about?" he demanded, trying to cut into what sounded like Hound cracking a joke.

"If it's something that you need to know, Optimus will tell you. If it's something that related to you, Mirage would have told you, rather than going to Jazz." Ratchet's hand was heavy on Cliffjumper's shoulder. "Now shut up and let me finish."

Mirage turned away, but not before Cliffjumper saw the guilty cringe. He started to say something more, but the look on Ratchet's face would've scared even Bluestreak into silence. Nothing to do except wait and remember. And wonder why Mirage would be cringing, if that Decepticon was really full of hot air.

Six Million Years ago: Under Pavilion

Following the back streets of the ancient city, Cliffjumper's footsteps fell back into the old pathways as though he'd just left, rather than having fled a few hundred cycles ago. He remembered every alleyway, every dangerous nook, cavernous cranny as though time had stood still.

'Home'.

The red mech paused, and looked over his shoulder to make sure he hadn't lost his companions in the flickering light of the falling towers. Ages ago, the sight of the upper levels burning would have made him want to dance in the streets– right now, however, he was focusing on not getting lost in the old city.

Optimus Prime had given him the option– the choice– of backing out numerous times, knowing how this city had shaped and scarred him. Cliffjumper had moved beyond those times, and could almost feel a twinge of regret for the Decepticon tools, the idle rich of Upper Pavilion.

Almost.

"You're sure the message said 'red twelve district five'? He asked the looming shadow

that he recognized as Optimus Prime. "It's right under the entrance to the Lodges– it might be standing, but I don't think it will be for much longer."

"Positive." The answer came from the white shadow at the Autobot leader's side. "Never met this guy that far inside the city before." Jazz shook his head, "Usually meet 'im in a couple of other locations."

"Ah still think it might be a trap." drawled the other red figure. Ironhide– the older Autobot had insisted on accompanying the trio into the city. "It ain't like we know for sure who this agent is."

"How far is it now?" Prime spoke quietly, "This 'Mirage' didn't ask for a meeting lightly, nor did he ask for my presence– so it isn't likely to be a trap. We must get to him quickly, before the distraction team is forced to withdraw."

"This whole city's a trap, if you ask me." Cliffjumper muttered, and gestured towards a tunnel entrance. "It's right through there, Optimus." Taking the initiative, he plunged through. "I'll just be ready, if it's an ambush though. You better be ready."

A reddish glow guided the quartet to the end, and to yet another alley. The other streets had been filled with panicked residents trying to leave. This one was nearly empty.

The blue and white mech stood over the body of another– Decepticon? Autobot? He wore no faction sigil, making it hard to tell if he were friend or foe. Of course he heard them coming— Cliffjumper noted, there was a wariness to the stance as the unknown tore his gaze away from the skyline for a moment, and turned to face them.

Optimus Prime stepped away from the others, Cliffjumper started to follow, but Optimus waved him back. He kept his rifle handy. If this turned out to be a Decepticon... he'd be sure to get the first shot. Hopefully this would be the agent that Optimus had insisted upon meeting. The one that had brought them into a city that was now considered Decepticon Territory.

"Identify yourself," the quiet commanding voice told the stranger. "What are you doing in this sector."

"Mirage." said the unidentified mech, after a moment of hesitation. There was a caution to his voice and his frame that didn't quite mesh. "I'm–"

Mirage's answer was cut off as an artillery shell hit nearby.

"Mirage?" Prime looked back towards Ironhide. "I thought you would be..."

"Older." supplied Ironhide, "We can't stay here, Optimus. We're low on ammo, an' they're startin' to catch on to the feint over on th'west side."

"Mirage– I do not think that this city will stand much longer. I believe it will be too dangerous for you here now. Come with us, before the Decepticons start using you for target practice." Optimus gestured towards the others. "Quickly. We'll talk back at Iacon."

The Lodges tower fell before they had gotten to the hidden gates. Cliffjumper was too busy to do more than note that Mirage had paused to give a last indecipherable look at the flaming wreckage.

1984: The Ark Command Center

"Why didn't you say something before now." Optimus Prime paced in front of Teletran One's main terminal. "If you knew something–"

The sudden realization that Cliffjumper had entered the room cut the accusation off before the red Autobot could figure out if the leader was talking to Prowl– standing next to Teletran One, and monitoring a news broadcast of some sort; or if Optimus was addressing Jazz, who was leaning against the corner of one of Teletran's huge databanks.

Jazz gave him a casual lopsided grin, and wandered over towards where Prowl was working, conferring with the logician in quiet tones. Prowl, for his part, just looked up and gave Cliffjumper a brief nod, before going back to... whatever it was that was being monitored. Some kind of science program, he noted idly, before turning his attention back to Optimus.

"You wanted to see me, Prime?"

"Yes, Cliffjumper. I wanted to see if you were up to resuming patrols of the California coastline with Hound tomorrow." Nothing about Prime indicated that he was about to share what had gone on in that debriefing with Mirage and Hound. Like it wasn't important enough– or maybe Cliffjumper wasn't important enough.

But he was. He'd find out about it one way or another– and soon.

"You can count on me– but what about"

"We gotta problem, Prime." Jazz's smooth baritone cut in before Cliffjumper could bluntly ask Optimus Prime about Mirage. "Decepticons have been spotted 'long the East coast, causin' trouble near the US capitol. Megatron ain't one of 'em."

"It doesn't look as though it is a full scale assault, more of a light hazing." Prowl calculated, "A small force should be able to get them to retreat."

"Take Sideswipe, Brawn, and Wheeljack and check it out." Prime looked to Jazz, "If you need backup, let us know. Try and keep Sky Spy informed... "

"Gotcha, Prime." Jazz answered, "Prolly won't take too long for us t'figure out what's what."

"I could go–" Cliffjumper interjected.

"Yer still on light duty, Jumper." The white Autobot answered him, heading for the common areas where Cliffjumper had last seen the mechs in question. "Next time."

"But–"

"Next time." Optimus promised, turning to Prowl. Obviously Prime wasn't going to be answering any of those questions today. But maybe he could get some information out of Hound tomorrow. Cliffjumper would have to just wait until then.

6 Million years ago: Iacon

The minute he walked into the room, things got quiet. The hum of conversation died with a last shrill giggle from some clown over in the corner who'd just gotten the joke. New Autobot on the Block syndrome, most likely. It'd only been a few cycles, so it was perfectly understandable that everyone was a little awkward around the newest recruit in the bunker.

Cliffjumper, for his part, had tried to be friendly– or as friendly as he could get.

Mirage was just a little more aloof than the average street rat. In fact, if Cliffjumper caught him off-guard, he almost seemed to be frightened of the small red 'bot. After years in Pavilion's streets, Cliffjumper could understand the fear of having someone catching you in an off moment. It was the rest of it that didn't quite make sense.

"Mirage! Over here!" someone called, before Cliffjumper could jump up and invite the blue and white mech to join his little gang.

It took Mirage a moment to respond to Hound's call. Less distracted than usual, Cliffjumper noted absently. Maybe he was just not used to having friends. One of his buddies slapped him on the shoulder to get his attention away from where Mirage was making his way across Iacon's main commissary towards Hound.

The buzz of conversation resumed, and Cliffjumper went back to swapping exaggeration stories with the other mini-bots around his table.

Unfamiliar laughter broke through the conversation a few hours later– and though it didn't stop the chatter, it was obvious that, somehow, Hound had managed to break through to the solemn spy. A quick glance over to where the pair had been sitting found Hound sitting by himself– and a data pad floating about a meter above the table. Cliffjumper sat up straight, and stared until Mirage reappeared, holding the object.

Mirage had an invisibility device. Why had he needed someone to come to him, when he could have just snuck away from the city?

The irksome thought nagged at him for the rest of the night.

1984: Ark Recreational Area

Like the commissary in Iacon, the Ark's rec-room was a pretty large chunk of space, dedicated to making sure that Autobots had a place of rest and relaxation, where they could sit and talk, or play, or a number of mundane social activities. Unlike Iacon, the area had a giant jut of rock caving in one side, where the volcano had forced its way inside. Yet another reminder that Earth was a little far from home.

Hound and Mirage were staked out on a seating area near the intrusive wall, playing some sort of earth computer game on one of the consoles in the area. Mirage was still looking rather skittish, and from the looks of things, Hound still seemed to be trying to keep that steady stream of encouragement up.

Cliffjumper narrowed his optics for a moment, and casually wandered over towards them. If he just came out and demanded answers, the normally even-tempered Hound would probably have his head on a platter. Of course, if he accidentally heard something, and could worm his way into the conversation...

"Thought you said you didn't like video games.." He heard Hound say as he approached. Sunstreaker started yelling at another Autobot, drowning out the beginning of Mirage's reply. Wisely, the little yellow bot decided that leaving the big psychopathic bot would be a good idea, and the lounge was quiet again.

"... ConQuest. It involved a long campaign setting to defeat the Autobots. Everyone at the Lodge was playing it, except for me– I wouldn't even install it in the system–"

Cliffjumper froze, not even hearing anything after that. Mirage was from the last tower to fall in Pavilion? Jazz, he was not. Subtle, he was not. He knew that right now he couldn't confront Mirage. It was the wrong time– he would just have to keep watching, and waiting.

Everyone from Under Pavilion knew, the towers were full of Decepticon tools, mechs that silently approved the conquest of the universe, refusing to see beyond the little games that the Decepticons had brought to them. The Lodge was home to some of the worst examples of pleasure seekers, who hunted turbofoxes, and wounded Autobots.Cliffjumper had barely escaped from the hunt himself.

And Optimus Prime had accepted this . . . tower dweller without a second thought, even as the Decepticon had stood over the body of the real Mirage...

It explained a lot. A whole lot. And now he was in the midst of...

"Watch where you're going, scraphead." A yellow wall stopped him short. As he looked up, Sunstreaker looked down at him with a glower and a snarl. And walked away.

"Yeah..." He muttered, not really comprehending that he'd just barely avoided getting on the lamborghini's bad side. "Watch yourself." Cliffjumper glanced back at Mirage, obliviously playing his video game. "Better watch out, because I'm on to you..."

Six and a Half Million years ago: The Lodge hunting grounds

The hunter was on to him. Even if he hadn't been wounded, he probably wouldn't be anything more than prey to the Decepticon.

Cliffjumper almost rued the defiant words that had given him away.

Almost.

They were true though– he'd stand by the assessment of the tower dwellers being Decepticon playthings. Even now, the best of Lodge tower was tracking his every clumsy move in the maze, as he attempted to find some way to get out– or hide. Not much use in it, but he wasn't about to go down without a fight. That'd probably surprise his pursuer.

Cliffjumper smacked the side of his head as his optics gave another fizzle, his vision going grainy for a microsecond. Not good. Definitely. Not. Good. The systems damage was starting to catch up to him– and there was no way he could do anything if he lost his visual perception.

Tripping over a jutting girder, he cried out, desperately flailing his arms, and trying to catch something to avoid planting his already damaged frame into the solid metal ground. Of course he couldn't be that lucky. The ground seemed to rise to meet him, knocking his visual systems offline. Cliffjumper groaned in frustration and pain.

"Slaggit..." The systems remained offline, even as he gathered enough strength to push himself to a sitting position. "Now what?"

There wasn't even the hint of an approach, before he felt the muzzle of a pistol against the back of his head.

"This is . . . sickening." he thought he heard a voice say, before a stun bolt enveloped him, and pulled the rest of his senses into the swirling whirlpool of unconsciousness.

1984: The Ark Command Center

"... Ran 'em off, but it's going to be a day or two 'fore 'Jack can get Sideswipe an' Brawn patched t'gether enough so they can make it back on their own." Jazz's own face was scorched and there was a long, and deep scratch across his helmet, and over his visor. "Ain't so much damage to the human's structures, as we thought there'd be."

"Any ideas why the Decepticons attacked that particular suburb?" Optimus asked, rubbing his chin idly, "There are no significant sites in that area, are there?"

Prowl shook his head as he scrolled through data.

"Nothing that I can find, Prime."

"Not a clue here," Jazz tiredly wiped at the scratch. "Once we showed, they started t'ignore the humans entirely, an' concentrate fire on us."

"A distraction, perhaps?" suggested Prowl quietly. "If Megatron was not there, where was he?"

Cliffjumper shifted uneasily as he watched Mirage during the video conference. No suspicious activity so far– Mirage had actually started to act more relaxed– more 'normal' since Cliffjumper had overheard him in the rec-room. Hopefully it would last long enough for him to catch the spy in some act that would prove who he really was...

"Hound, go to Jazz and Wheeljack, and give them a hand– and an escort." Cliffjumper had missed part of the conversation in his musings, "I'm sure that you might be able to find something that the rest of us missed."

"Thanks, Prime." Jazz said from the screen, "'preciate it."

"Right, Prime." Hound headed towards the corridor, transforming as he went. "We'll get to the bottom of this."

Bumblebee flattened himself against the wall as Hound raced past, one arm protectively out over a pair of figures.

"Hey, Prime, we got visitors." The cheerful yellow mech called, as he ushered the two human males into the command center. "This is Dr. Ackerson, and Dr. Wendt from the Energy Institute in Vancouver."

"Optimus Prime, " The stouter of the two began, "for years, Dr. Wendt and I have been researching a new way to create energy– we believe we have had some success with the latest version of the electrocell–"

"But the Decepticons stole it from us-" The other interjected, "Stole the electrocells, and destroyed our life's work."

All optical sensors were on the humans now.

"A distraction." Prowl murmured softly, "So that we would not notice the Decepticons heading towards Vancouver."

"Tell us more about your experiments, so that we can help." Optimus Prime looked at the few Autobots waiting for patrol assignments. "We will do everything we can."

His surveillance of Mirage would have to wait. Cliffjumper listened carefully as the men described the electromagnetic readings that would be present around one of their devices. This could be worse than having a Decepticon in your midst.

"Cliffjumper, take the California tertiary sector." Prime ordered, "Mirage– alpha Washington. Bluestreak, you're on Vancouver and south.. Sunstreaker–" the rest of the words faded as the named Autobots started to roll towards the assigned areas. Cliffjumper was certain they'd have the things by nightfall– unless, of course, his suspicions were true.

Cliffjumper kept a sensor on Mirage, until the spy was out of range. Give him enough rope to hang himself, as the humans would say. Give him the freedom to incriminate himself.

50 miles outside of Colville, WA

Freedom.

Traveling along one of the twisting winding back roads of Washington state, Mirage could almost imagine that he was home, taking a long drive through the streets of the city that he had lived in for most of his existence. The organic life made him uncomfortable at times. Crawling living creatures watching from the trees beside the road. He should be used to being uncomfortable by now– he'd had millions of years of practice at it.

Mirage wasn't though.

The last twenty-four hours had been the worst that Mirage had ever spent in his life. Even if his friends acted like nothing had changed, he knew better. He'd grown accustomed to being with beings that cared about one another, and spoke their minds when they needed to. It was nothing like 'home'.

Now thanks to the careless words of a Decepticon, his darkest secrets were all in danger of being exposed to those he had come to consider friends. Even though there were those, like Hound, who would stick with him, Mirage _knew_ that others would not. Cliffjumper was already watching him like a hawk-drone.

The formula one racer emitted a sigh, startling a doe from her roadside foraging. The foothills of the mountains marked the boundary to his patrol area– and he'd not even noticed a blip on his sensors.

No traces of anything resembling the electrocell emissions. Other electronic signatures, however...

Slowing down, Mirage pulled to the side of the dirt track that the road had become, and transformed. Energy readings indicated that there was something... there. Just past a couple of trees that Hound had explained were called 'fir', was the glint of metal. He'd found something, all right– but...

Mirage silently made his way through the trees, and looked through an opening in what was obviously a ... hive? Metal worked into nearly organic shapes, a giant honeycomb of small rooms and electronics.

Insecticons.

Mirage had found a base, he realized. There might be a chance, if the mechanical bugs were up to something, he'd be able to curtail them. Or– the thought made him smile with anticipation– he could pretend he hadn't found the base, and come back to see what bits of information he could pick up.

Even if he didn't find the electrocells, this wouldn't be a wasted trip.

Seven Million years ago: Red Twelve, District Five

The hunter was now the hunted.

Quarrel knew the signs– he knew to listen for the squeeks and soft sighs of badly maintained hydraulics. To catch the odors of burnt lubricants and low grade fuel. And he could easily avoid being seen in the shadows, since his chassis was smudged enough to keep him hidden. Experience was his only advantage here– the only thing that was keeping him alive in unfamiliar territory.

Darting down an unfamiliar alley, he wondered yet again why he had left the safety of the Lodge. The exhilaration of seeing the under city with his own visual sensors faded quickly as the hope of keeping a low profile evaporated. The mind numbing boredom had driven him away from the games– into what Quarrel had been sure would be an adventure.

Adventure indeed.

He didn't notice the thickening crowd at first— the glares and stares as someone recognized him– and broadcast it to everyone else in the area. They'd waited until he was far enough from the tower, and then...

Quarrel fingered the first dent in his chin ruefully. He'd been forced to run, or be pulled under the teeming masses. As it was, he was lucky to escape so lightly.

Escape. Hah.

He hadn't escaped yet, and he knew it. No one from the tower would miss him until tomorrow– and even then, he had never been able to express the burning desire to find out what was out on the streets of Under Pavilion. Quarrel was trapped by his own curiosity.

The alleyway made a sudden sharp left turn and then ended abruptly. Skidding to a halt, Quarrel managed not to smack into it– instead, heading for the entrance again. This maze would be the death of him– and he knew he was running out of time.

The distinctive sharp 'clink' of one of his more persistent pursuers greeted him from just out of sight at the head of the street. Quarrel had now run out of options.

"Y'aint gonna find anythin' down there," an unfamiliar voice echoed off of the walls, "Already been through it. Better check down t' district twelve. Heard he was goin' that way."

The sound of a retreating mech followed, and Quarrel started to relax in the shadow of the wrecked building.

"You really gotta work on subtlety." the voice rumbled next to him. "Got a lotta nerve comin' around here, that's for sure."

"I'm Quarrel." came the nervous answer. "Uh... thanks."

"I know who ya are– an' announcing it prolly ain't the healthiest thing for ya to do around here."

"Oh..."

The other mech sighed, and shook his head, optic band flaring in annoyance.

"You're gonna git yourself killed down here. Why don'tcha go back to your tower, and play one of your silly games for a while. You'll forget about this soon enough."

"Because they're pointless, and some of them are even wrong– I'm tired of playing the fool while important things go on outside."

"So ya wanna make a difference?" The mech laughed, "You don't even know if I'm gonna kill you yet." He clapped one hand on the now alarmed Quarrel, still grinning, "So you think important things are goin' on outside the towers? There's things that I'd like t'know about inside– tell ya what. You tell me 'bout things I need t'know inside... I'll teach ya how to get around without gettin' your aft killed. Is it a deal?"

Quarrel seemed to think about it for about five seconds before nodding rapidly.

"Now here's yer first lesson, kiddo... Don't ever tell no one your real name. They can track ya by that- an' it can getcha into some very real trouble."

"But what should I call you then?"

"Call me Mirage, " The blue mech told him. "What you see ain't exactly what you get."

1984: Insecticon Base

The hunter searched for his prey.

Never mind that the prey in this case was information; Mirage was, as many Autobots had found out, a very patient hunter. He could be absolutely single minded in pursuit of his goals. He could be absolutely silent and still, eluding casual detection even without using his invisibility device. It helped with the espionage– this dogged devotion to following every trail as though his life depended on it. Sometimes it did.

After finding the base's main computer, and attempting to make sense of the Decepticon bugs' notations, Mirage realized the impossibility of finding out anything useful. Megatron just did not trust the Insecticons enough to do more than tell them that he had found a way to produce more energy than they could ever dream of– the Electrocells, he assumed. Unfortunately for Mirage, that was all.

"We already know Megatron has it... but _where_..."

Carefully, the hunter backed away from the useless information that he had found, and erased his trail through the messy maze of the Insecticon base. He might be able to pick up other tidbits here— when the Cons themselves returned. Mirage frowned. So typical of Decepticons not to share information amongst themselves. He should have expected as much, especially after what he'd seen in Upper Pavilion.

As Mirage made his way back through the stand of trees to the dirt path, he spied a trio of dark specks in the sky– the Insecticons returning. He made a quick calculation of their trajectory, and slipped into the shadows, waiting until he was certain they couldn't see him before triggering his invisibility device and heading back towards their base.

Hopefully one of them would let something slip. Mirage slipped back into an obscured corner, and began to watch– and listen.

1984: The Ark

Cliffjumper paced restlessly in the space just beyond the Ark's entrance. Night was falling, and Mirage still hadn't returned. Nor had he reported in. Cliffjumper was concerned– but not necessarily for the reasons that the others might think.

Over the rolling dirt hills, a cloud of dust rose in the cooling red desert light. Something was coming this way– Someone. A familiar white and blue formula one race car appeared at the head of the cloud.

Mirage transformed as he approached– and Cliffjumper could see the self-satisfied smirk on the larger Autobot's face as he headed towards the entrance.

"You find the Electrocells, Mirage?" he asked.

The smirk melted away like so much water down a drain hole.

"No– I found nothing."

Liar, thought Cliffjumper. That smirk wasn't the expression that anyone who had just spent an entire fruitless day searching for something. That was the smirk of someone who was hiding something.

Mirage passed him, still frowning, and headed for the Command center– and after another glance out at the rising quarter moon, Cliffjumper followed. Someone needed to keep a watch on the monster from the towers– and the red Autobot was the only one who knew what 'Mirage' really was.

A hunter killer.

Six and a half Million years ago: Gold twelve, District Two

Mirage was late.

Quarrel shifted in the shadows, careful not to let thelight glint off of his white chestplate. He wasn't worried though– not yet anyhow. Glancing towards the cover in which he'd concealed his 'trophy', he frowned. Hopefully Mirage would be able to help him with the problem of getting it out of Pavilion entirely.

Despite the short time Quarrel had known Mirage, he had confidence that the streetwise Autobot would know what to do. And he was fairly certain that Mirage was indeed one of those Autobots whom all the Decepticons had assured him would like nothing more than to kill him, and everyone like him. Except now he was equally confident that the Decepticons were lying through their vocal processors to him, and everyone else in the towers.

Ten more vorns and he would have to leave, or the patrol would catch sight of him, and everything that he and Mirage had worked for would be lost. They would know that Quarrel, prime hunter of the Lodge tower was a spy for the very forces the Decepticons protected them from. They might even want to kill him for it.

Even the thought of it made him a little shaky.

At long last he thought he heard a telltale scuff, and the familiar quiet baritone spoke somewhere near his audial sensors.

"Sorry I'm a li'l late. Ran into a couplea delays..." Mirage said, suddenly appearing just out of Quarrel's peripheral vision. "Whatcha got that couldn't wait 'til next week?"

"Patrols aren't going to come around for another five vorns," answered Quarrel. "We don't have much time, but... I was hoping you could help me with this." he gestured abruptly to the overhang where he'd carefully stowed his burden.

As Mirage moved to look at what Quarrel had so painstakingly managed to smuggle out to the Gold sector, the ever-present smile of his mentor disappeared.

"Ya know what'll happen if they find out 'bout this, dontcha?" the older mech said quietly.

Quarrel simply nodded.

"Why'd ya do it?"

"Because," Quarrel replied with all the casualness he could muster at the moment, "It was the right thing to do."

Mirage turned his visored gaze on Quarrel for a long moment, studying him as though for the first time.

"Ya don't believe it yet," Mirage told him at last, "It's still all jus' one of your games. Ya know they could pull ya out of yer fancy place, an' torture ya until you spill it all. Yer not a hero– yet."

Quarrel quailed for a moment; he hadn't thought that part of it through, to be honest. He hadn't really been sure it was the right thing to do, but–

"I will never tell them anything." he said stubbornly, "No one knows, and no one will ever know. I was very careful–"

Soft echoes of footsteps a few streets away interrupted the rest of his defense. Patrol was early today– and was making its way towards their meeting spot. Time was running out.

"Can you help or no?" demanded Quarrel. "If you take him out, I can go distract the patrol to another street."

Mirage hesitated for the first time since Quarrel had known him.

"I can, an' you don't have t'play the hero this time." Mirage shoved a small complicated looking machine into Quarrel's hand. "Red is off, blue is on. Now turn it on an' get your wannabe chassis back to the Lodge, an' make like you don't know nothin' 'bout what's goin' on down here." He tugged the unconscious form out from under the overhang, hefting the smaller bot with a grunt, "Don't stop an' interfere, no matter whatcha see–"

"But–"

"I'll be contactin' ya next week, or sendin' someone to ya–" The cheerful grin, and Quarrel could almost see a faint glint of amusement in the optics behind the visor. "Ya do have the makin's of a hero– if ya can stay alive long enough."

Quarrel burst into a faint smile of his own, and pressed the blue button, and watched as his own hands vanished into thin air. Invisibility device. No wonder Mirage could always sneak up on him—

But that would mean that Mirage was defenseless now–

"Shoo–" Mirage told him, just as the patrol rounded the corner, and started running his way. "Next week."

Mirage grinned at nothing, and started making directly for the patrol. Or sort of directly– Weaving and loudly singing an off-key song about a femme and an alien, Mirage headed straight to greet the patrol. Quarrel could only watch– however– as after a couple of curses, kicks, and general laughter at the expense of the pair of overenergized mechs, the patrol moved on.

1984: Just north of Colville, WA

Dawn had barely broken over the horizon when Cliffjumper barreled out on patrol.

It had taken all of the self restraint that he could muster– and a half an hour of casual talk– to convince Prowl that there was nothing wrong with him wanting to take his patrol on Mirage's path of yesterday. Prime had been too busy making arrangements with Jazz in order to get Sideswipe a lift back home– since Wheeljack wasn't able to fix whatever was wrong there– to interfere.

"We'll just have to see what I find today," He spoke aloud in the cold gray light of Washington's morning. "See what that ... fake was so smug about. Maybe Prime will listen to me then." He accelerated sharply, taking the turns at a reckless speed.

Following the path that Teletran One had mapped out as Mirage's route was more difficult than he'd expected. Who would have thought that a fancy vehicle such as Mirage would take a dirty and dangerous path– but he should've expected the twists and turns. They suited a spy. And the rolling hills that marked the edge of the patrol route were ahead, and he had found...

"Nothing." Disgusted, Cliffjumper made a wide U-turn under a thick stand of trees, and just stared at the road back. "Maybe he went somewhere else... he **was** late, after all..."

A familiar silhouette shadow crossed the road, heading south, over the mountains Cliffjumper had just crossed. His sensors perked up, and he studied the jet, starting to roll quietly towards a dirt path that led in roughly the same direction. Thundercracker, he identified, and he was in a hurry to get somewhere.

All sensors on the sky, he followed. A jet, however, is always going to be faster than a car– no matter how fast the car is, on land it has to deal with obstructions. By the time Cliffjumper got around the rockfall, and to where he could train his optical sensors on the sky, Thundercracker had disappeared.

Cliffjumper growled in frustration– but then he noticed the electromagnetic readings fluctuating in exactly the pattern that the humans had told them they would within range of the Electrocells. He'd found them– well within the area that Mirage had searched yesterday. He inched forward, following the vague trail to a bluff overlooking an old riverbed, only casually noting a flickering of the light in the area he approached.

Decepticons were everywhere in that valley. A huge building of some kind scarred the landscape, looking very out of place. An energon storage facility– and there was Thundercracker, still in vehicle mode, while the trio that made up Reflector unloaded packages from his cockpit.

"...visit from ... friend..." Cliffjumper could just barely catch the words as one of the trio spoke. "...missed Mirage..." The faint sound of laughter echoed loudly enough for him to hear.

Confirmation. The Decepticons were operating out of this valley– in an instillation that looked new, but could obviously not have been raised overnight. And the Decepticons had seen Mirage in the valley– that would explain the smirk, Cliffjumper seethed. Probably more than seen– since Mirage hadn't reported it...

Giving a last check to make sure he'd been unseen on his little sightseeing tour, Cliffjumper raced back up the winding road. Prime needed to hear about this– and fast.

1984: The Ark Command Center

"Good news, Prime! I've located the missing electrocells."

Cliffjumper screeched to a halt in the middle of the command center, and transformed before Mirage could turn away from Teletran One, where he'd been preparing to start mapping out the Insecticon's range, and finish showing Prowl and Optimus exactly what he'd found yesterday.

"Good work, Cliffjumper." Optimus congratulated the red minibot. "Where?"

"In the same area Mirage patrolled yesterday." Cliffjumper gave Mirage an angry glare, confirming that he'd been watching the spy closely. It took only a moment for the words to sink in.

"Impossible!" Mirage shook his head, " I'd have picked up a reading on them for sure!" The electromagnetic spectrometer had been quiet all day— and he had only seen Insecticons.

"Maybe you did, but decided to keep it quiet." The smaller Autobot took a step towards him, accusingly . Mirage took a step back away from the ferocity of the gesture.

"That'll do, Cliffjumper, we don't want bad feelings, just the electrocells." Optimus Prime stepped in, to Mirage's relief. "Autobots, Transform."

Mirage remained quiet during the long ride along the path he'd raced along triumphantly just the day before. Even when they passed the turnoff towards the Insecticon hive, he said nothing. His past was bound to come to light eventually. He should have taken Hound's advice, and told Optimus and the others sooner. He wasn't sure how it would help though–

A small explosion ahead interrupted his train of thought, and he concentrated on the here and now, as a trail of smoke rose from the valley where he'd

"...where Mirage found nothing." Cliffjumper was saying, as Optimus gave the command to transform. Peering down into the valley, Mirage was shocked to see the structure, where he could swear he saw only an empty valley the day before.

"Decepticon at Twelve O' Clock!" No time for protests, no time for recriminations– Cliffjumper pointed to a lone tape circling the ridge.

"All right, Autobots, retrieve the electrocells!" Optimus jumped the short distance to the next ledge on the way down."This way, Autobots."

"Try to remember which side you're on, Mirage." Cliffjumper paced him for a few strides, sarcasm dripping from his voice. Mirage opened his mouth to reply, but the Autobot leader spoke first.

"Keep your mind on the Decepticons, Cliffjumper."

"That's just what I'm doin'." Mirage could feel the glare from the smaller Autobot, just as he caught a glimpse of a familiar profile. Thundercracker stood waiting next to the landing strip that the Decepticons had burned into the landscape. The accusing looks had stung, the suspicion had burned. Suddenly he didn't care anymore.

Mirage darted away from the group, heading straight for the larger seeker, launching himself at Thundercracker fists first. His punch connected with the mech with a loud clang, and a slight give to the metal.

"I didn't feel a thing," mocked Thundercracker, pushing Mirage away.

"Then let's try again." Mirage growled, allowing the anger to guide him, as he wound up for another blow. He stumbled as Thundercracker stepped aside– only saved from falling on his face by the Decepticon making a grab, and locking his arms around Mirage from behind.

"Too fast for ya, huh, Autobum." jeered the Decepticon, "It wo-"

Whatever Thundercracker had to say was cut off as Mirage braced himself, remembering all the lessons he'd learned from his teacher so long ago on how to break a hold like this. With a grunt, he flipped Thundercracker over himself, and to the ground.

His teacher would've been proud of that move, but probably not proud of the way that Mirage threw himself on top of the prone seeker. He was too enraged to stop– and even when he tore a piece of Thundercracker's insignia away, he wasn't about to stop there.

"May I be of some assistance?" The echoing voice didn't even register with him, until the bolt of pain hit him in the back, concussion sending him flying off of Thundercracker to land a few feet away with a groan. Mirage wasn't going to be able to bounce back from this one fast enough to be of any use.

Yet again, Mirage was at the mercy of the Decepticons.

Six million years ago: The Lodge

Anyone who happened by Quarrel's living spaces would have thought someone had broken in and ransacked the normally fastidious hunter's rooms. Boxes were upended, their contents rifled and strewn across the main room. Games and possessions tossed carelessly into a pile in the middle of the room. The truth was that Quarrel himself had turned the place upside down.

For the thousandth time in an hour, he opened his recharge chamber, and felt around the edges, fighting the surge of panic in his systems.

The invisibility device that Mirage had given to him was gone.

He should have known better, Quarrel chastised himself, He should have kept the device on his person, rather than hiding it in here. After Mirage had told him to keep the device, he'd put it to good use, getting more and more into this role that he'd been asked to play. He'd actually started to think that maybe he'd like to be an Autobot. But he was still afraid of what would happen if the others found out– or if the Decepticons detected the device on him while he was going through the absurdly normal things that he had to do to maintain the illusion that he was just another spoiled rich tool.

Not that someone finding it in his home was going to look any better to anyone. He'd been careful, but not careful enough.

A quiet chuckle from the doorway gained Quarrel's attention through the haze of worry.

"It looks like a bomb went off in here." The Decepticon liaison leaned in the doorway, tossing something from hand to hand. "Pretty unlike you, Quarrel. Did you loose something?"

Quarrel frowned, wondering if he could just fake it.

"Yes. I can't seem to find my copy of the latest update on ConQuest." he replied, assuming an air that he only hoped would be interpreted as casual and annoyed. "I was hoping to play tonight, but..."

"Oh." the other mech said with the grin of a predator. "Then you weren't looking for this." He held out a large hand, balancing a small technical looking object on it. The device. Quarrel's face must have shown something because the Decepticon started laughing again. "Yes... now that's what I thought." The menace grew, as he strode inside, and locked the door behind him.

"Wh-what do you want?" Quarrel managed to ask. "If you have that, then–"

"What we want," the larger being told him, "Is Mirage. And you're going to give him to us. Tonight."

If there were a time to be a hero, it was now, faced with the consequences of his own actions, he had a choice. Mirage had said he had the makings. Time to prove it.

"Get bent."

"Your choice, " the liaison almost purred, as he tucked the invisibility device away. "But I was hoping you would say something like that."

1984: Insecticon Base

By all rights, he shouldn't even be standing– but Cliffjumper's accusations wouldn't leave him alone. Prime had defended him again, but there were some things that Mirage couldn't let lie. There weren't many things that stung him worse than accusations of betrayal.

Somehow, through the shouting and the retreat, Mirage had managed to keep hold of the insignia he had ripped off of Thundercracker. In the few moments he had allowed himself to rest after Ratchet had finished reconnecting his equilibrium stabilizers, he'd formulated a plan. Not a very good plan, but a plan nonetheless.

He'd show Cliffjumper that he wasn't a Decepticon, when he rolled back into the Ark with the Electrocells. Every single one of them. Mirage only hoped that the Insecticons and Decepticons were just as mistrusting and trigger happy as he'd remembered.

"Three measly energon cubes?" he could hear one of the Insecticons complaining loudly, as he quietly made his way towards the entrance hole. Another replied, as Mirage turned his invisibility device on, and crept in to wait.

After another round of 'What can we complain about now', the bugs cheered themselves up, and went back to their individual tasks, elsewhere in the hive, leaving their latest reward sitting in the middle of their common area. Mirage couldn't complain about the untidiness of bugs– after all, it was helping his plan.

Moving quickly, he scooped up the small cubes, and dropped the insignia with a smirk on his invisible face. With any luck, Thundercracker would be the first target. If not– it really didn't matter either way. He raced out of the hive and transformed, pushing his thrusters to the limit as he pointed his hood towards the Decepticon facility.

Six Million Years Ago: Red Twelve, District five

'I did what I had to do–'

No matter how Quarrel tried to justify himself, he still heard the approving echo of Mirage's voice.

_Ya got the makin's of a hero, but ya ain't one yet._

The Decepticon interrogator – not liaison– had just proven it. No matter how Quarrel had braced himself for pain, nothing could have prepared him for what Crossways had put him through. Only three quartex later, Crossways had gotten exactly what Quarrel had sworn never to give him, and the hunter found himself sending the urgent message to Mirage for a meeting.

Quarrel could only hope that Mirage would be able to decipher the careful phrasing, and be on his guard.

"Meet tonight at vertex: The place I am in, is the same as where we met. Red twelve, district five." The Decepticon merely squinted at the odd wording, before grabbing Quarrel by the back of the neck, and guiding him towards the gravlift.

"You have what you want– why are you taking me?"

"Before I terminate you, Autobot," the interrogator told him with a rough shake, "You are going to see the destruction of everything you have ever valued."

"What–"

"Megatron has grown weary of your friends and their little power games– and is very tired of the sight of these towers, where the Autobots have gained a foothold."

"I don't under–"

"The towers are to be razed, Quarrel, because of you." Crossways smiled, "The Lodge will be the last one to fall, and you will watch it, as you will watch us take your little 'friend', Mirage, apart." He forced Quarrel forward, down the alley. "Mirage won't have a chance– he'll never get away from us."

Quarrel felt the old surge of fear and horror rising.

An explosion in the distance grabbed Crossways's attention.

"They're early..." he commented, loosening his hold on Quarrel for an instant. That instant was enough. Quarrel braced, and flipped the larger Decepticon over his head.

"I can't let you do that to my friend." Quarrel told Crossways, with a calmness he didn't feel.

Snarling, the Decepticon produced a disruptor, and powered it up. Quarrel leaped towards it, trying to pull the barrel down before the trigger was fully depressed, and half of his chest disappeared. Worried? Who had time for anything less than full on panic.

"Die, Autobot scum." Crossways growled, as he struggled to push the weapon towards Quarrel again through the panic induced strength.

An explosion hit– closer this time– rattling the ground beneath the struggling pair. More importantly it loosened Crossways' grip on the weapon just enough to allow Quarrel to push it down further than he'd expected. Unfortunately, it didn't stop the disruptor from discharging.

Everything stopped for a moment in Quarrel's senses. He felt no pain, as he'd expected to– then noticed the look of shock upon Crossways' face, and turned his gaze down to where the close range disruptor charge had burned a hole through Crossways.

Siezing the moment, Quarrel made another grab for the gun, easily tearing it from the Decepticon's grasp.

"I can't let you kill a fellow Autobot," he said apologetically, pulling the trigger. "Never again."

1984: Decepticon Facility outside of Colville, WA

Mirage– no- Quarrel was screaming.

At least he was screaming on the inside.

A misjudgement on his part had landed him in the crossfire of the fighting Decepticons, and a stray strafing run had shorted out his invisibility device, sending a shock through his systems. He could blame his predicament on the injuries he had suffered earlier, on the lack of rest– on Cliffjumper's accusations– but he knew it was his own fault. He had the free will to make his own decisions without blame game.

And now he was paying for it– again.

"Fire, slave!" came the command, and yet again he stood, triggering the rocket launcher on his shoulder straight at Ironhide's back. Quarrel wanted to yell at the Autobot to get out of the way– to move– but the hypnoshell that Bombshell had inserted into his head overrode all of his voluntary actions. The Insecticon had complete control over his actions.

Miraculously, Ironhide seemed to hear the silent scream, and step out of the way, allowing the missile to impact and explode against the side of the valley. Quarrel cheered silently, even while the Insecticon master cursed.

Still, it was all his fault. He'd been the ones to lead the Autobots who had trusted him so blindly, so completely into the ambush. All except for Cliffjumper– suddenly he was very glad the minibot was so suspicious. Sometimes mistrust could be a good thing.

Once it had been discovered that Quarrel had been trying to trick the Decepticons into fighting each other so he could get close enough to get the electrocells, the Decepticons had started working together, deciding to use him in order to get Optimus and the others close enough to be surrounded.

Quarrel was tired of being used. Tired of pretending to be someone else. He'd thought he'd had no choices before– then Bombshell had enslaved him.

"Mirage– You traitor. I've been waiting for this!" he heard behind him. Bombshell had left him for a moment to strafe the other Autobots— there was no command to fire.

Cliffjumper lunged at him, striking fast with his fists.

The red Autobot hefted him suddenly, and threw him down the incline to land silently in a heap. The shell in his head short circuited as his head hit the ground, engulfing him in a burning pain, paralyzed.

'Shoot me,' Quarrel wanted to say, 'make this end now.'

He barely felt the kick to his side, barely heard Bombshell's demand that he get up and kill Cliffjumper. Quarrel couldn't move. And for that, he was glad.

A flash of laserfire crossed his vision, and Bombshell was gone, replaced by Ratchet's concerned visage. The medic reached for his head, and removed the shell– the pain subsided to a dull ache from where he'd been thrown. Quarrel groaned in relief, as his systems started responding.

"I... I never wanted to do anything against my fellow Autobots–" he managed to say, "It was just–"

"Forget it, Mirage. Ratchet, get him back on his feet–"

"But Mirage's wounds–" Quarrel shook Ratchet off, and unsteadily stood on his own.

"We'll tend to them later– join the others. I'm going to make a run for it." Prime started for the facility, as they headed to join Prowl and the others.

Quarrel managed to find a place to prop himself up, and provide coverfire, as he watched Optimus Prime running to the facility. The rest of the day was a blur, consisting of explosions, laserfire, and a long drive back home.

Six Million Years Ago: Red twelve, district five

As the body in front of him turned an ashy mottled grey, Quarrel stepped back, still a bit shocked at what he'd just done. Killing... had never been one of his pleasures. In fact, he was a bit shaky, seeing the results of his own actions.

There hadn't been a choice– he told himself. It was him, or me.

The echo of a group of vehicles heading towards district five took a moment to register. Crossways had spoken of 'we'. His re-enforcements were probably on the way to help him subdue and destroy Mirage. Quarrel had to do something– but what?

Every joint and rotor protesting, he bent and retrieved the device from Crossways, and turned it on– he could go invisible, and find Mirage to warn him of–

Quarrel was still visible.

Uttering a word that he'd heard in the streets, Quarrel took a closer look at the device, flipping it over to see the scorch marks over the power cell. Maybe Mirage could fix it, but Quarrel had no idea where to even begin.

Mirage would be here at any moment– as well as the would-be executioners. Quarrel's gaze rose to the towers burning on the horizon. No one there could possibly have survived. His own home would be falling soon– all because he wasn't careful enough. And if he didn't do something soon, his only friend would be torn apart.

The quartet burst into the alley as they transformed into vaguely familiar shapes– armed and more than one ready to start shooting. The largest of the group stepped forward, even as the smallest one bristled.

"Identify yourself. What are you doing in this sector?"

Quarrel hesitated: The choice was upon him. He could try and lie his way out of this, or...

"Mirage," he said. "I'm–" A secondary explosion drowned the rest of his words. 'The one you're here to kill.' Quarrel braced for the laserfire, hoping that the end would come quickly, and leave Mirage to continue fighting the Decepticons.

"Mirage?" came the unexpected answer, "I thought you'd be..."

"Older," supplied one of the mechs behind him. "We can't stay here, Optimus–"

The name was familiar.

These were Autobots.

And there was still no sign of Mirage.

"Mirage– I do not think that this city will stand much longer. I believe it will be too dangerous for you here now. Come with us, before the Decepticons start using you for target practice." Optimus told him, gesturing towards the others. "Quickly. We'll talk back at Iacon."

He followed the group out of the city, only pausing to watch his former home tumble to the ground. He was on his own now.

"This way, Mirage." a somewhat familiar voice called him. The white Autobot that he'd heard called Jazz. Giving him a kindly grin, Jazz gestured towards the hidden way out of the city.

Without a second look back, Quarrel left Pavilion, his life, and his name.

1984: The Ark

Cliffjumper leaned against one of the consoles in the repair bay, watching while Ratchet repaired Mirage. No. Quarrel. He'd gotten that much out of the normally reserved mech on the way back from Colville. Somewhere between the state boarder, and the repair bay, he'd realized just how much Quarrel had risked because of his careless words.

The sound of a racing engine made him look towards the entrance, as Jazz pulled in and transformed. A day early, and without Wheeljack and Sideswipe. The thunderous look on his face didn't bode well for whoever the special ops Autobot was angry at today, and...

Jazz was heading for him.

"Ya got some nerve, Cliffjumper," the normally smiling Autobot told him, "Accusin' Mirage of stuff like that. He ain't done nothin' 'gainst any 'bot since long 'fore he joined us."

"I know... It was just findin' out that Quarrel was from Lodge Tower. You know they almost turned me into a trophy for one of the display cases there."

Jazz gave him a keen look from under his visor at that.

"How'd you think you got outta there alive?" Jazz asked simply, giving the Autobot on the repair table a long look. "An' his name is Mirage. What you see ain't exactly what you get."


End file.
